


TMNT: We're Six Feet Tall So We Can Be Sexually Appealing

by veecamaro3



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veecamaro3/pseuds/veecamaro3
Summary: Is it bestiality if the animal in question is a reptile? HAH. Jk. There's no sex here. BUT Donatello in Michael Bay's TMNT adaption definitely goes down on my list of hot characters.I had a dream once, more of a fever dream, about making out with Donnie. So I decided to cross some boundaries and write a TMNT fan fic in my usual create-a-female-lead-resembling-me-and-toss-her-into-the-story fashion. That brought about "fic 1 nt" (if you stumbled upon my Sherlock fan fic, you'll remember that's how I typically name my stories in my computer), but I grossed myself out. Also in my usual fashion, I did a whole entire rewrite of the fic.This is take 2, the very beginning.
Kudos: 1





	TMNT: We're Six Feet Tall So We Can Be Sexually Appealing

Chapter One (In Progress)

It’s hot today. It's been hot all July. When Ms. Natalie lets us out to play, I head straight for the old oak tree in the left corner of the yard, next to the tall iron fence that surrounds the entire property. I sit in the shade and watch people as they walk by.

I notice that everyone that passes stares beyond the gate. They watch the dozens of children playing in the front yard, which is more dirt than grass, with looks of pity on their faces. I wonder what they think as they pass. ‘Poor kids’, maybe, or ‘Such a shame’. As much as they would think that, though, it doesn't make them feel guilty enough to adopt us.

I've lived at Green Fields Orphanage for as long as I can remember. Which isn't very long because I'm only eight years old. But not knowing any better makes living here okay. Doesn't mean that I wouldn't love to get away from this place, though.

One of the younger boys in the orphanage, Jimmy, catches my eye and looks like he wants me to come play with him. I glare at him so he will leave me alone and turn my attention back to the sidewalk. On this side of the street, it's empty except for a young, dark haired girl and an older man that I hear her call ‘Dad’. When they get closer, I see the girl holds a clear plastic container. Curious, I jump to my feet and press my face to the iron bars of the fence. My eyes are glued to the four green lumps in the container.

“What are those?” I ask when the girl and her father are in front of me.

The girl stops, and in one swift motion glances from me to the orphanage and back to me. I expect her to have the same sorrowful look that the adults have when they see me; instead she just looks intrigued.

“They're my new pets,” she tells me. “Baby box turtles.”

“Can I hold one?” I ask. I crane my neck to try to peer into the container.

“Um...” The girl falters. Her dad puts his hand around her shoulders, and for an instant I’m jealous of the action.

“Maybe another time,” her dad says gently. But I've heard that before. It's the polite way of saying no, since I'm never going to see them again. “Come along, April.”

“Bye,” April says, almost apologetically, and I watch her and her dad disappear around the corner.

“Bye,” I say quietly, to no one.

For the next few hours I stare out at the people that pass and think about Sarah, one of the girls in the orphanage, to forget about wanting to hold the baby turtles. Sarah got adopted today. I want to be happy for her but part of me wishes it were me that went with that family. They didn't take a second look at me, though. For some reason, they wanted a little girl with bright blonde hair and blue eyes. As if that mattered. I have light brown hair and brown eyes. Definitely not what they were looking for.

But it's okay. I tell myself there's something better out there. A better family that won't care what the color of my hair is because they will love me for me. I just wonder when that day will come.

I shrug off the thought and try to memorize the faces of the people that walk by the oak tree. They're all so old that usually they look the same, or similar, at least. The girl with the baby turtles, however, will never not be familiar to me.

I don't see April for about a week, and I find when she passes by again I'm happy to see her. She's with her dad like last time, but she doesn't have the turtles, which makes me sad. I really did want to hold one of them. Or all of them. But she smiles, and she waves, and I smile and wave back. She almost seems like a friend now. A friend on the other side of my iron-barred cage.

It's August thirteenth. I turn nine today. I've learned to not get excited about birthdays. We don't get presents, but at least Mrs. Kim, our Korean cook, makes us a birthday cake. I'm the only kid that has a birthday in August so everyone enjoys the cake more than usual. It's a treat this month. Mrs. Kim told me one time in secret that she makes mine extra special.

Birthday cakes are about as exciting as our dull lives get. We get the occasional lunatic running by the orphanage, too, screaming and yelling. Sometimes fancy cars go racing by, and if we happen to catch on quickly enough we cheer the cars on.

Green Field Orphanage isn't on a busy street, but it's Brooklyn, and drivers can get reckless. Some idiot in a big white truck got reckless about ten minutes ago and crashed right into the iron fence, along the right side. We were in our lessons when we heard the crash. All of us kids and adults ran out to investigate and saw the front of the truck smashed up into the iron bars, which were bent around in an odd way.

Firetrucks and ambulances come to take the man away, and another truck comes to tow the crashed truck away. When the mess is cleared, it leaves the iron bars of the fence bent in such a way that a small child could fit through it. Since we are all small children here, the city comes and puts up a makeshift chain link fence in front of the bars. But the messed up iron fence gives me an idea….an idea that I have to put on hold until the perfect opportunity strikes.

A few weeks later, April walks by after lunch. She isn’t with her dad this time. She's with an older lady with graying hair. When April passes, she waves and smiles brightly, like usual.

“Hi!” she says. “What's your name? I never asked.”

“I’m JJ,” I say as I get up and wipe the dirt off the back of my shorts.

“That's a funny name,” April says.

I furrow my brows in annoyance. “It's a nickname,” I tell her curtly.

“What's it a nickname for?”

“Jennifer James.”

“I like Jennifer. That's a pretty name.”

“Yeah, well…”

The older lady shoots April a scolding look, to which April sighs in response.

“I’ve got to go. I'll see you later.”

And so I watch April walk away again, envying the freedom she has.

Later, I lay awake listening to Myrtle snore in the bed next to me. She's a big ugly twelve year old girl, so it's not surprising that she snores. It just keeps me up at night.

I spend the time thinking about the chain-link fence, and the new space between the iron bars, and the freedom I suddenly wanted so badly the when I watched April leave. The chain-link is attached to the iron bars by simple zip-ties. All I'd have to do is take a pair of scissors from the craft room, cut the bottom corner zip-tie, and I could sneak out of the orphanage.

I decide to give it a try tomorrow night.

My stomach is so full of nervous butterflies at dinner that I barely eat anything. The scissors feel heavy in my pocket as I lay on my back under the sheets in bed, waiting for the perfect time to sneak away. When I can't stand it any longer, and I feel like it's late enough, I grab a sweater, slip my feet into slippers, and creep out into the hall.

The home is dark. The only light is from the moon shining through the windows. It shines bright enough outside that I can see where I'm going as I stalk along the yard, sending small dust piles up around my slippers. They won't be pink when I go back inside. I should have worn regular shoes.

I make it to the fence with my heart beating so fast I can almost feel it in my throat. I take the scissors from my pocket and cut at the zip-tie at the bottom left corner of the fence. They're only craft scissors, and I'm not very strong, so I have to really try hard to break that little plastic tie. All the while my heart beats faster and faster until finally the zip-tie breaks and the edge of the chain-link hangs there limply.

Slowly, I reach out and peel the fence back, exposing the space in the iron bars. I glance back at the dark windows of the orphanage, take a deep breath, and step through to the other side.

I stand on the sidewalk and look around warily. I can't believe it. I did it. I'm outside the orphanage! I could go anywhere!

The roar of an engine precedes blinding headlights that illuminate me as a car zooms by. I jump out of my skin and dash back to the safe side of the fence and don't stop running until I'm safely back in my bed.

I'm slightly embarrassed about being so chicken about sneaking out of the orphanage. I didn't even get very far, either! Another opportunity to sneak out doesn't come until a few weeks later, when I see April again, and she says she’s going to go to her dad's lab on Saturday to see the baby turtles. If all goes right, I'll be able to get away during free time after lunch. That's when Ms. Natalie lets us do pretty much whatever while she locks herself in her room. I heard Susan telling Mark one time that she saw Ms. Natalie drinking during those times. But I don't know what that means.

After lunch on Saturday I go upstairs and brush my hair and then go outside in the front yard to wait. Nobody notices me. That's usually how it is. About ten minutes later I see April and the old lady walking down the street. I crawl between the bars and meet them at the corner.

“Hey, April!” I say.

“Hi!” April says. “Ready to see the turtles?”

I grin. “Yeah. Why do we have to go to your dad's lab to see them?”

“Because they're his experiments,” April says as we walk away. The old lady doesn't question my being there. I don't give the orphanage a second glance. All I can think is, _experiments?_

“Is he torturing them?” I ask, almost fearfully.

April laughs. “No.” Then she lowers her voice. “My dad and his partner found some ooze from _another planet_. They want to test it out on the turtles.”

“What?” I say breathlessly. “You're joking.”

“No, I'm not,” she says. “They call it mutagen. They're giving it to the turtles a little at a time to see what happens.”

“It will probably kill them.”

April shakes her head. “My dad promised me it wouldn't.”

I don't answer. We walk in silence for a while, until we find a staircase that leads underground. April and the old lady walk down, but I stay at the top.

“You're going down there?” I ask.

“Yeah,” April says. “What's wrong? Haven't you ever been on the subway before?”

“No.” I follow them and decide it's probably not a good idea to tell her this is my first time away from the orphanage in general.

We take this underground train into the city and enter a tall building with maybe a hundred floors. I've never been to New York City before. I don't know how people can tell all the tall buildings apart.

Inside this particular building, we take an elevator to the eighteenth floor and step into a hallway that has white floors and walls and ceilings, and a lot of lab equipment. April introduces me to her dad, Mr. O’Neil, and he questions what April didn't earlier.

“Are you sure you're allowed to leave the orphanage?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I lie.

Mr. O’Neil smirks, as if he knows I'm lying, but doesn't say anything more.

April grabs my arm. “Come on, I'll show you the turtles.”

She leads me across the room, to a large tank with an inch of water at the bottom and two giant rocks inside. Four baby turtles stare at us as we approach. Two are on the rock, one is in the water, and the other is inside the food bowl.

“Why is there colored tape on their shells?” I ask as I press my finger to the glass, attempting to point at the nearest turtle with a purple square on its shell. The one in the food bowl has an orange square, and the two on the rock have red and blue.

“To tell them apart,” April says.

“What are their names?”

April bites her lip. “I haven't named them yet.”

“But you've had them for so long,” I say.

“I know,” April says. “Nothing seemed to fit. Hey, why don't you help me name them!”

“Okay,” I say with a wide smile. We both turn to the tank and stare at the turtles.

After a few minutes of uneventful silence, I ask, “What have you thought of so far?”

“Well, just plain things. The lady at the pet store said they were all boy turtles, so I thought, maybe Spike for one of them. Shelly didn't work because they're not girls. I’m really bad at naming things.”

We fall into silence again.

“Do you go to school?” April asks me.

“We have classes at the orphanage.”

“Is it like normal school?”

“I don't know what normal school is.”

“Like, math and spelling and art and science.”

I nod. “Yeah, we do that. I like art. We’re learning about Renaissance painters.”

“So am I!” April runs to her backpack and brings over a large, colorful book with the title _Renaissance for Kids_. “Look at this painting. Isn't it pretty?”

I read the title under the picture. “The… _Mona Lisa_? I don't know, she looks sort of bored.”

“It's the most famous painting by Leonardo Da Vinci,” April says as she taps her finger over the small paragraph next to the picture.

“Hey,” I say, “what about Leonardo? For one of the turtles?”

April looks into the tank. “I like it! We could name them all after Renaissance people!”

So we spend the next half-hour browsing through April's book to find three other names. We assign the blue turtle Leonardo’s name. Since purple is my favorite color April lets me name that turtle, and I choose Donatello. We name the red one Raphael, and the orange one Michelangelo. April is excited to tell her dad, and he seems proud of us. He even lets us help him change their names from Test Subjects One, Two, Three, and Four to their new names in his lab records.

After I pet each turtle, April and the old lady, her nanny, take me back home. When I crawl through the iron bars and go inside the house, I realize no one noticed I was gone. For the first time ever, not being noticed makes me happy. It means I'll be able to sneak out and see those turtles and my new friend April plenty more times.

In just four months the baby turtles have grown three times in size. It's amazing to think that something that came from a different planet fell into the hands of two New York scientists.

While April and I play with the turtles one day, a man comes to visit the lab. He spends most of his time with April's dad, but at one point he talks to us. His name is Mr. Sacks, and he owns the entire building and is apparently Mr. O’Neil’s boss and fellow scientist. He seems nice. Before he leaves, he has a pizza delivered for our lunch.

“I love pizza,” I tell April. “We don't get it a lot.”

“We can get pizza whenever we hang out,” April tells me.

“Okay.” I rip off a small piece of my slice and hang my arm over the turtle tank. I prod the piece next to Donatello’s mouth. “Come on, try it. You'll like it,” I tell the turtle.

“Don't do that, JJ, you'll make them sick,” April says. But it's too late. Donatello has already snapped it up. I rip off three more pieces and feed it to Michelangelo, Raphael, and Leonardo.

“I think they like it,” I say with a giggle as Raphael almost bites my finger.

I continue to sneak out of the orphanage and see April and the turtles for a whole year. The hole in the iron fence never got fixed, which allowed my continuous escape.

The turtles have grown to the size of a dinner plate. Much larger than the adult size of the average box turtle, according to Mr. O’Neil, but apparently it's not the results he and Mr. Sacks have been hoping for. I don't know how long their experiment will go on, but I know I'll be sad when it’s over. Because when it's over, the turtles may be dead.

My life revolves around taking care of the turtles and hanging out with April, since I’m now ten and no one has adopted me. I’ve heard some of the older kids say the longer it takes for you to be adopted, the less likely it is that you ever will be. Like adopting dogs and cats from the pound, everyone always wants the puppies and kittens. Maybe someday I’ll get up enough nerve to ask April if her dad will adopt me. She’s already told me that I’m like the sister she never had.

I wake up to cloudy skies one day in late March. I get out of bed, dress in jeans and a sweater, brush my hair and clean my face and teeth, then go downstairs for breakfast. The gloominess of the weather resonates in the kids today. We eat in silence, and since it’s Sunday, we just wander around the home looking for things to do because we don’t have classes. I plan to go outside and wait to see if April walks by. I put on a coat and sit under my oak tree.

The weather seems to have gotten to April as well today when I see her. She’s not as bright as she usually is. We take the subway to her dad’s lab, barely speaking, but I’m not too worried. I know that seeing the turtles will cheer her up.

When we get to the lab we can tell something’s wrong. It’s quiet. Mr. O’Neil isn't around, and neither is Mr. Sacks, but it's rare for him to be there anyway. The machines aren’t on, either. One of the lights flicker eerily.

“Dad?” April calls out. There’s no answer.

“Maybe he’s not here,” I say.

“He’s here,” April says. “He left home before I woke up. This is the only place he goes.”

We walk through the lab slowly. When we pass the turtle tank, I notice they're completely still, not moving around slowly like they usually are, as if they know something is going on.

Two loud _bangs_ echo through the lab. April screams but I'm too afraid to comprehend what just happened to have the effort to show such fear. I’m pretty sure those were gunshots.

We duck under a table just as the sound of footsteps fills the now quiet lab. With bated breath we watch pristine black leather shoes and pressed black pants cross the room and leave the lab.

I sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

April’s eyes fill with tears. She warily sniffs around and shakes her head.

“It smells like smoke,” I say.

Just as we get to our feet I see huge orange flames billowing out of the doorway to the next room. April and I collide into each other in a hurried, panicky attempt to turn around and escape. When we're at the door, I scream out, “The turtles!” April looks too frightened to move, so while she waits in the hall I run back inside and look around.

Thick smoke fills the room. I can't see much. I know I won't be able to lift that giant tank. I hunt around for an empty box and come across a figure hunched over in the cloud of smoke.

“Go,” the voice croaks. “Get out of here. Run to the sewers.”

“What? The sewers?” Confused, I squint through the smoke. It doesn't look like Mr. O’Neil, but it's certainly as tall as he is.

“Take the turtles to the sewers,” the creature says. “I'll find you there.”

“Um, okay.” Coughing and spluttering, I manage to get the four turtles into a box and run back out to the hall. There are firefighters and other people from the building. April is nowhere in sight.

I make it past the firefighters and nosy people unnoticed and run down eighteen flights of stairs, wondering where April got to. Maybe she's waiting for me on the street.

A crowd gathers in front of the building but still, April is not there. Agitated and breathing hard from running, I turn left and run to the next alley. I have no idea how I'll get to the sewer. I'd never been on a subway until last year, let alone the sewers. But I know manhole covers lead underground.

About halfway down the alley I find a sewer hatch. I don't even try to lift it. I know I'm not that strong. I suppose I could wait for that creature I saw in the burning lab to come.

What was that creature, though? It had a dark, pointed face, spoke with a strange accent, like it was from Japan. I know it couldn't have been Mr. O’Neil.

And what were those gunshots? Did that creature kill someone? Did that creature kill Mr. O’Neil? And what about the man that left before the fire? Who was he?

The scraping of the manhole cover draws my attention to the floor. I watch as it slides slowly to the side, then look around the alley. I'm the only one there. I peer down the dark hole and find two pairs of glowing eyes staring back at me.

“Come, quickly,” the same voice from earlier says.

“Who are you?” I ask warily **.**

“I promise you, I will answer all your questions. But first you need to get yourself and the turtles out of sight.”

“Can't you just take them?” I try to push the box down the hole, but I don't want to drop it. After all, I don't know how far it goes down and the thing inside the sewer won't reach up and take it.

“You are on the security footage,” the creature says. “They will search for you. You need to hide.”

“I've got nothing to hide!”

I'm about to just leave the box on the ground and run when a furry head emerges from the sewer. I gasp and stumble back. The pointed face is covered in dark fur, and even with the long, thin gray beard it looks unmistakably like a rat. But it's _huge._ The rat narrows its beady black eyes at me.

“Get in the sewer!” he orders with such authoritative command that I feel I have to obey. He finally takes the box after I've got a footing on the metal rungs leading down to the depths of the city.

I follow the rat through the sewers. He’s covered in dark fur and about the size of a man. The rat walks on his hind legs, carrying the box of turtles in his front paws, and I'm careful to not step on his long, bald tail as we trek further and further into the smelly sewers.

“Where are we going?” I ask with my nose covered by my sweater.

“Somewhere safe.”

“What about April? Who are you? What happened up there in the lab?”

“You have so many questions, young one.”

“I'm following a giant rat in the sewers. Of course I've got questions.”

I'm not sure, but I think the rat chuckles.

After what feels like miles, we finally stop before a large open area with a low ceiling that has pipes running along it. The rat looks around and sighs.

“We will stay here,” he says.

“I don't understand why I have to stay,” I say. “I live at the orphanage. They're going to wonder where I am.”

“Do you want to know what happened in the lab?” the rat asks me.

“Yes,” I say, but I'm aware of the subject change.

“Eric Sacks killed Kirby O’Neil and set the lab on fire to cover his tracks. He tried to kill me, too, but he couldn't find me.”

“Who are you?” I ask. “I've never seen such a…large rat…before.”

“I was not always like this. I was once human. A martial arts instructor in Japan. My name was Hamato Yoshi.”

“Was?” I repeat.

The rat nods solemnly. “I must leave that name behind now. I am no longer Hamato Yoshi.”

“What happened to you?”

“I came across the mutagen in Japan. Eric Sacks discovered what I had in my possession and brought me and the mutagen to New York. He then used the substance to turn me into…this.” The rat looks down at his body, gesturing to his furry form. “They kept me locked away in that lab as an experiment.”

“But April said her dad and his partner found the mutagen.” By the reproachful look on the rat’s face, I’ll say that’s the least of my worries right now. “Why did you go to New York in the first place?”

“I was wrongfully named a traitor in my clan,” the rat says. “There was nothing left for me there.”

“Your clan?”

“Enough questions. We must find a way to keep warm tonight.”

“And find some food,” I say, patting my stomach. “But, um…sir. I still don't know why I'm here.”

“You were a witness at the scene of a crime, during top secret experimentation. They will search for you and you may never walk free again.”

“But I didn't do anything,” I say.

“You don't know Eric Sacks. You should never underestimate him.”

“I’m a ten year old girl. So is April. What could he do to us?”

I receive a doleful look from the rat.

“Fine, don’t tell me. But April is out there still, somewhere. Won’t they look for her?”

“Of course they will. She is the daughter of the scientist who was murdered. But you…” The rat steps forward and places a warm paw gently on my shoulder. His eyes seem to twinkle with sadness as he says, “You, my dear, are no one. A pawn. Easily blamed and discarded. I will keep you safe down here in the sewers.”

“I can’t stay down here forever. I could get adopted if I go back to the orphanage. Someone might want me.” I hang my head. “I don’t want to live down here. It smells.”

The rat chuckles lightly. “It won’t be forever.”

“What should I call you?” I ask.

While thoughtfully stroking the long gray hairs extending from his pointed chin, the rat stares off in the distance, pondering. “I was well known for my ability to break wooden boards with different parts of my body. I suppose Splinter might be an appropriate name.”

“Splinter,” I say. “I like it.”

We pass the next few hours scouring the sewers for discarded clothes or blankets and telling each other stories. Splinter tells me about his life back in Japan. A long time ago, he had a wife and daughter. They were killed. After that, he trained soldiers for Japanese fighters called the Foot Clan. Apparently, Splinter is very skilled in ninjutsu.

I tell Splinter about my time in the orphanage, but my life is definitely not as interesting as his. All the same, he listens with enthusiasm to whatever I have to say. I try not to say too much, though. I’d rather hear his stories.

When I can’t ignore the gnawing hunger in my belly any longer, Splinter and I head out in search of food. He carries the turtles with us, since we don’t want to leave them alone. It really doesn’t matter, though. I don’t think the sewers agree with them. Ever since we got down here they’ve been sluggish and it looks like they’re losing their color.

I have no money. Neither does Splinter. The only thing we can think to do is steal food. Normally, Splinter wouldn’t condone this behavior. Stealing is wrong. But we’ve got to eat or we’ll die.

My first suggestion is to sneak back into the orphanage and take food from them. Splinter isn’t all that enthused, but seeing as he can’t go above ground and I’m no Oliver Twist, we really don’t have much of a choice.

We follow the sewers underground until we reach Brooklyn. It's a long, smelly, hot, sweaty trip, but eventually we arrive by the orphanage. Splinter opens the manhole cover for me and I climb up the metal ladder. My head is barely above ground when I see two police cars in front of the orphanage gates. Immediately I retreat back into the sewer, breathing heavily, my heart racing.

“What is it?” Splinter asks me.

“Cops,” I say. I wipe sweat from my forehead and look around with wide eyes. I have a feeling I wouldn't be so afraid if Splinter hadn't detailed what Eric Sacks could do to me on the walk over here.

“You’re learning,” Splinter says.

“Learning what? To be afraid?” I say, my words filled with slight anger. “I never had any reason to be afraid of cops before. It shouldn’t be any different now. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

With a sad sigh, Splinter turns to head back the way we came. We walk in silence. I don’t know what’s going on in Splinter’s head, but in my head I’m thinking, what has my life come to?

It wasn’t so bad when I thought I only had to steal food from the orphanage. With that plan out of order, Splinter and I resort to picking through garbage outside of restaurants. _Garbage!_ I mean, we didn't have the best food at the orphanage, but I never thought I'd sink so low that I'd eat garbage food for dinner.

We get back to the long, flat room in the sewers that Splinter wants us to stay in. I feel full but I can’t tell if it’s because I finally have some food in my stomach or because I’m still grossed out about what I had to eat. I curl up in the corner with some moldy blankets and try to fall asleep.

It’s hard to sleep on the concrete ground. The sheets smell, the sewers smell, everything stinks of mildew and raw sewage. I manage to fall into a light doze that I don’t even get to stay in for long because Splinter rouses me from it.

“JJ, come see,” Splinter says.

“What’s going on?” I ask groggily. My question is answered as soon as I really open my eyes.

In the center of the room is the box I had the turtles in. Emerging from that box is a bright green glow. Splinter and I walk carefully to it and peer inside.

The source of the glow is the turtles themselves. The color I thought they were losing earlier seems to appear tenfold through the glow. Not only are they glowing, they seem to be enlarging as well.

“We should take them out of the box,” I say. I carefully remove each turtle and set them on the ground. When I touch them, their shells are warm and vibrating with energy. “What the…?”

“I think the mutagen is taking its effect,” Splinter says.

“What effect? What’s happening to them?” I lay my palm on Leonardo’s shell. Beneath my fingers the shell grows and grows. All four of them grow. Their limbs extend, shells elongate, their heads become more round and pronounced. When they stop glowing and vibrating, they stand on their hind legs at about the same height as me.

“Whoa,” one of the turtles says in a high-pitched voice. When he turns around to examine his body I see the tiny orange square on his shell. Michelangelo.

“What happened to us?” Raphael asks. His voice is slightly more gravelly than Michelangelo’s.

“I think we mutated,” Donatello says. The way he squints through the dim light makes me think he can’t see very well.

“This feels weird,” Leonardo says as he takes a few careful steps around.

I stand close to Splinter while we watch these four box turtles suddenly walk around and talk like they're human. I feel like hiding behind Splinter, actually. Is this a dream? Am I still asleep?

“Hey, guys, check it out!” Michelangelo suddenly shouts when he and I lock eyes. “It's that girl that gave us that awesome food that wasn't those disgusting pellets!”

“The pizza?” I say, despite myself.

“Is that what it's called?” Michelangelo says. “We need to get some more of that. It was good.”

My stomach grumbles and my mouth waters at the idea of pizza. “Tell me about it…”

Splinter steps forward and the turtles stare at him in awe. “You four are the result of an experiment with a substance from another world called mutagen, just like I was. I'm sorry to say you will not be accepted in the world above, which is why we have taken refuge in the sewers. Here we will live, safe from harm.”

“It kind of smells down here,” Michelangelo says as he pinches his flat nose.

“It is the sewer,” Donatello says with a shrug.

I feel dizzy. I grip my head and try to keep my balance. “Four talking mutant turtles...a giant talking rat...I don’t feel so good…”

That’s when I keel over and black out.

_Fifteen Years Later_

The throbbing in my head increases as I slowly make the transition from uncomfortable slumber to slightly conscious. The rap music bumping through the sound system does nothing to alleviate the throbbing. My tongue feels heavy and dry in my mouth. I need water, but my limbs feel too much like lead to move.

I gradually open one eye and scan the room. I had almost forgotten that last night I got Donnie, Raph and Mikey drunk celebrating their sixteenth Mutation Day. Leo was too much of a prude to drink because he wanted to be fit and alert for training the next day. By the way I feel right now, I think he was right to exclude himself.

“Raph! Turn your music lower,” I grumble. I rub my face into the pillow and groan. “Blaring Tupac’s music isn't going to bring him back from the grave.”

I hear muffled words from Raphael's general direction. “Bite me.”

“Oh, my head,” comes the stifled complaint of Michelangelo. “JJ, what did you do to us?”

“You wanted a party,” I say. I submit to consciousness and open my eyes to find myself on one of the sofas like I remembered passing out on, but somehow Donatello got underneath me. The six-foot-eight giant mutant turtle lies his back, arm over his eyes. I’m tucked between him and the back cushions of the sofa. I peer over Donnie’s chest, which is what I thought was my pillow, and see the remains of said party.

It’s not as bad as I thought, honestly. Pizza boxes and lime quarters are strewn across the table in the foyer, amidst empty tequila bottles and dirty shot glasses and pizza crusts. The huge flat-screen TV is playing a basketball game on mute. Even if it was on, Raph’s rap music would drown out the sound.

Michelangelo dangles off one of the sofas, his head almost touching the floor. Of the four turtles, Mikey is the shortest, but he definitely doesn’t lack in bulky muscle. Raphael surpasses him in size, though. Raph’s biceps would make any body builder envious. But their envy would die off once they got to his scarred face. Leonardo is the leader of the group, strong and resilient. And responsible, apparently, because of the five of us he's the only one who had common sense not to celebrate last night. Donatello is the tallest and leanest of the turtles. Our go-to tech genius, Donnie’s innovative abilities don't interfere with his awesome ninjutsu skills. All the turtles have been trained in ninjutsu practically since the day they were mutated. So have I, actually, but being a simple human female and not a mutated turtle has its setbacks when I go up against the guys.

Raph lies on his stomach across the other sofa. I watch as he reaches out limply with one hand and aims for his red bandanna draped over an empty tequila bottle. He makes contact with the bandanna but sends the bottle to the floor. I'm surprised it doesn't break on the concrete. We stole some good quality tequila, then.

The sound of the bottle clashing with the ground sends Donnie shooting upward, and I get tangled up in his lap.

“Whoa, what's that?” Donnie searches around blindly for his tortoise-shell glasses, which I pick up from the ground and hand to him. “Thanks.” He puts them on over his purple mask and then scoots over on the sofa so I can straighten up.

“I feel like shit,” Raph mumbles in his gravelly voice as he pulls himself into a sitting position and ties his bandana around his head. It also covers his eyes, like a mask.

“Me too, bro,” Mikey says.

“How are you doing, Don?” I ask.

Donnie pushes his glasses up his flat nose and shrugs. “As well as can be expected.”

Leonardo bursts into the foyer through the archway from the dojo, panting. “Sensei’s coming! You guys better–” He stops when he finally takes in the state of the room. “What happened in here?”

Mikey does a half-sit up to see Leo from over the top of the sofa. “You missed a great party, man. I mean, I can’t remember most of it, but I know it was awesome!”

“Seriously, guys, Sensei’s on his way, and he is _not_ happy-”

Leo’s words are cut off by the strong, demanding voice of Master Splinter.

“ _Chūi! Okiru!_ ”

Donnie, Raph, Mikey and I jump to our feet and stumble over to Master Splinter. Leo hangs back with his head lowered and hands clasped at his waist.

“Oh, man, guys, Sensei’s really mad if he’s using Japanese,” Mikey whispers.

“Shut up, Mikey!” Raph, Donnie and I hiss at him.

“What is going on here?” Splinter demands. The four of us hang our heads while Splinter paces the floor in front of us, his hands behind his back. His faded red robes drag along the concrete. “Is this how I raised you? To be irresponsible and reckless?”

“Sensei, we were just celebrating–” I begin.

“ _Shizuka!_ ” Splinter bores his beady black eyes into me, as if he knows I’m to blame for this. “We train daily. Why would you corrupt and impair yourselves like this?”

“It was our Mutation Day, Sensei–” Mikey attempts to say, but Splinter just waves his hand dismissively.

“No excuses. Alcohol is not allowed here. To the ha’shi, all four of you! Now!”

“What!”

“The ha’shi?”

“Sensei, please!”

“Now!” Splinter orders. “I will come dismiss you after sufficient punishment for your actions has passed.”

“Sorry, guys,” Leo says solemnly as Raph, Donnie, Mikey and I trek past him and over to the farthest reaches of the sewers we call home.

The ha’shi is a chamber in the sewers where we go when Splinter wants to punish us. The guys have gone quite a few times over the years. This is only my second time. I’m much more deserving of the harsh, extensive training regimen the ha’shi offers this time around, though.

“I hate the ha’shi,” Raph grumbles. He takes a large wooden ball from the corner of the room to balance on. Most likely with one foot.

“I’m sorry, Raph,” I say. “It’s my fault we’re here.”

Donnie rests his large hand on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault, JJ. We were celebrating, like you said. We’re all to blame.” He scans over the side of the room with the training equipment. “Do you want the chopsticks and eggs this time?”

“No, thanks,” I say, wrinkling my nose at the slender wooden sticks. “Leo did the handstand on the chair once. Maybe I’ll try that.”

“I don’t think you’ve got the upper body strength for it,” Raph says.

“Oh, yeah? Want to bet?” I challenge. “Arm wrestle. You and me, Raph. Right now.”

Raph and Mikey snicker.

“We’re ninjas. I won’t sink as low as _arm wrestling_.” Raph flexes his biceps, showing off the toned muscles in his arms that are a good five or six times the size of mine. “Besides, I’d snap your arm in two if we tried.”

I scoff. “Yeah, sure.” I continue to scoff as I turn my attention to the equipment, but I know Raph’s right. It’d be like arm wrestling a wet noodle to him. “Where’s the thin beam?”

“Right here!” Mikey says. He hands it to me, and I take it over to two bricks and lay it across lengthwise.

“Don’t pick something too easy, JJ, or Splinter will make you stay here longer,” Donnie tells me. “After all, he already thinks you’re the instigator.”

“She _is_ the instigator,” Mikey says with a snicker and a playful shove to my shoulder.

I frown at Mikey. “I didn’t see you protesting those shots, Mr. I-Am-The-Master-Of-Tequila.”

“I _am_ the master!” Mikey throws Raph a devilish grin. “At least I didn’t puke all over the place!”

“Yeah, Raph, I thought you said you could hold your alcohol?” I tease.

“Shut up,” Raph growls. “Let’s get going before Sensei comes back and finds us messing around, or else we might still be here on our next Mutation Day.”

So we proceed to find some sort of ridiculously outrageous training regimen doubled as punishment. We all decide to use the wooden balls somehow. Raph balances on the large ball with one foot, I take a smaller ball and try to keep myself and the ball on the thin wooden beam, Mikey does a handstand on the largest ball, and Donnie places a small square plank over a ball and balances on the plank while trying to keep eggs on two pairs of chopsticks. He always makes himself work harder than he has to.

The longest the guys have had to spend in the ha’shi was five hours. And that was because Mikey took Leo’s katanas and invented a game called Fruit Ninja, which involved slicing up all the fruit as the others chucked them at him. Honestly, that was nothing compared to what I did last night. I’m ten years older than the turtles. Master Splinter sees me as their role model, their guide in life. That was easier to do when the turtles and I were the same size. Now, Donnie’s a whole foot and a half taller than me, and Leonardo’s about three times my width. The turtles are giant, mutated muscled machines well-tuned to the art of ninjutsu. I stopped considering myself older than them – in fact, I stopped considering our ages at all – a very long time ago.

So now that I’ve severely inebriated my fellow turtles and disrespected Master Splinter, I guess we’ll be in the ha’shi for a good eight or nine hours.

My legs are going numb. My core hurts from the effort of keeping balance on the ball. It doesn’t help that I’m hungover. I try to find a nice harmony between meditation and concentration while I push away any lingering daydreams of curling up on the sofa again with Donnie.

I mean – I mean...just, curling up on the sofa. In general. To rest up.

I glance around at the others. Their faces are set in hard stares of concentration. Part of me feels guilty for that stray thought I just had. I mean, I can chalk it up to being hungover and tired and mentally drained. Sure, that’s all it was. But it’s not like I haven’t thought something similar before…

Just when I feel like I’m about to keel over from dehydration and starvation and fatigue, Master Splinter enters the ha’shi. He takes a moment to observe each of us with mild indifference, then simply states, “You are dismissed” before leaving the chambers.

I collapse to the ground. As do the others. But while they stay and massage their sore muscles, I bound to my feet and run out of the ha’shi. I hear the guys calling after me, but I only yell back, “I'm going to be sick!”

I barely make it to the toilet before I start convulsing into it, vomiting up the dregs of pizza and alcohol, mainly bile. Man, I'm never going to hear the end of this. As it were, last time I went to the ha’shi, Raph told me it was no place for a girl. Of course I told him I could handle it, but this kind of puts the ball in his court.

After I've puked out my guts and rinsed out my mouth with water, I remain on the cool concrete floor of my bathroom and try to relax. I should consider taking a cold bath to relax my leg muscles or else I might get severe cramps. I still don't know how long we were in the ha’shi this time.

At the soft knock on the bathroom door, I groan an acknowledgement. The door creaks open and Donnie pokes his head through.

“Hey, JJ. Are you alright?”

I turn my head and stare into Donnie's soft brown eyes. I can't lie to that kind face, so full of concern.

“No, Don, I'm not…” I whisper.

“Let’s get you to your room.” Donnie squeezes himself into the tiny bathroom and manages to get me to my feet. It's not that hard to do since he could probably lift me up by my wrist with one hand.

Donnie half carries me to my bedroom down the tunnel. He helps me into bed and pulls the covers over me like a child. I don't protest. I snuggle against my pillow and find myself wishing it was his chest, like this morning.

That makes me think: Was it really this morning?

“How long were we in the ha’shi?” I ask wearily.

“Eight hours.” Donnie brushes my hair back from my face with one of his three green fingers. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Are you going to sleep, too?”

“Yeah. Good night.”

“’Night, Donnie.” I yawn wide and fall straight to sleep.

I wake some hours later feeling no better rested than when I went to sleep in the first place. My muscles ache, my head still throbs. I reluctantly pull myself from bed and wander over to the bathroom.

After I shower and wash my hair, I dress in old sweats and a long sleeve shirt. I slip into some comfy boots and head back to the foyer, where our mess from the party remains. I'm surprised Splinter let us go to bed after the ha’shi without cleaning up first.

I observe the semi-trashed foyer with my hands on my hips before going to retrieve a trash bag from the kitchen. The mess really isn’t that bad. Clean up the trash, wipe the table, sweep, then the foyer will be back to normal. I’m just _not_ cleaning it up myself.

In the kitchen I find Mikey sitting at the table with his forehead pressed against the old, scratched wood. I make a face at him and poke him in the shoulder. He jerks awake.

“I swear I didn’t take the last Pop-Tart!” Mikey shouts.

“Calm down, dude,” I say. “Did you sleep here?”

“For like the past hour maybe,” he says with a yawn. “I came down for some pizza but I fell asleep.”

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
